The Last Shore
by Moontan
Summary: It's known that the crew is searching to retrieve Jack. But where is he that he can be retrieved from? A side look at where Jack must await rescue.


"Jack?"

The voice wasn't the brave and determined, yet cultured voice of a certain Miss Elizabeth Swann, the last person Jack had seen before facing the massive maw of a Kraken with nothing but a sword and his wits. Neither was it the brassy voices of the women he often had the misfortune of being slapped by on the infamous island port of Tortuga. And again it wasn't the voice of Anamaria, another woman he had crewed with. Instead this voice was soft and gentle, the nuances similar to that of Elizabeth's, but without her fire of spirit. And there was a certain timidity to it that didn't seem to fit at all with any woman of his aquaintance.

"Captain Jack Sparrow?"

Cautiously Jack half opened one of his black, kohl rimmed eyes. The kind of man who makes a living off of surviving everything by a hair's breadth and giving up anything to stay free doesn't rush into announcing himself if possible. At least not when he's uncertain whether or not it will give him the advantage. What he saw was a sight more welcoming than the last thing he'd seen. As the voice suggested, it was a young woman, though not /too/ young. Not that a scallywag like Jack would have minded either way. She was peering intently into his face, expression worried, with the bluest eyes he'd seen in a human head. They were deep, like the sea he loved to travel, and framed in a pale, round, pretty face. Whether by a trick of the lighting or some other mystery, there seemed to be a gentle sheen to her face that reminded him of something he couldn't quite put a finger on. Long black tresses curtained her face, the top pulled back in a braided crown, while the rest was left free to cascade against her cheek and over her shoulders. 

"'s my name, Love," he said with his usual swaggering voice. He could handle women, even if they occasionally outwitted him. Too bad he'd been right about Miss Swann, but she did learn from the master, or so he flattered himself. Perhaps if she'd learned less well, he wouldn't have been chained to his own ship to face the Kraken alone. But this specimen of the breed hardly seemed in the same class as the resourceful Elizabeth.

"I know," returned the gentle voice of the woman. Glancing down, Jack noticed two things. Firstly, the woman had wonderful breasts; a delightful prospect. Secondly, the woman was wearing a typical 'lady's' dress, low and tight in the bodice, but flaring everywhere else, obscuring the rest of her form under layers of pitch black fabric. Shifting to prop himself up on his elbows, for he had been lying down before this moment, Jack realized something a little less wonderful. The two of them were very alone for the moment. The sky was a bleak gray color, broken only by jagged rocks behind the woman. Craning his neck to look around, the whole of what he saw was equally bleak. Drab gray sand stretched everywhere, and the sea stretched far beyond that, also a drab gray and listless to boot. No wind, no life anywhere besides the two of them.

"Where are we?" It was a simple enough question, perhaps unworthy of Captain Sparrow, but even the wittiest and most complicated of men has to get down to the basics at some point. The woman sighed, which sounded rather sad and despairing almost, but did marvelous things with her breasts, especially with the help of the tight bodice which was common to so many dresses of the 'ladies'. With a slim hand she indicated the beach and what little view it had to offer.

"The end of the world. The last meeting of sea and land, I've heard." Another sigh drfited outwards. "A kind of hell one could say." She gave him a sad smile that had a certain fondness and familiarity to it. As though she knew him from somewhere. Usually he would have flattered himself by saying he'd met so many women he couldn't keep track of them all. But most of them were the type from Tortuga, and this one hadn't slapped his face yet, a thought which made him idly rub his own cheek. She was more like Elizabeth, yet so unlike her as well. And Miss Swann had eyes only for her Will Turner, even if she did use them, and more, to trick him.

"We've met before then lass?" he asked, widening his eyes for a flicker of a moment and lifting his eyebrows. The woman lowered her eyes, a faint flush creeping over her features as she evaded his gaze.

"Not formally," she replied softly. "And I didn't look like this then, so you wouldn't really recognize me." She clasped her hands together the thumbs rubbing over each other again and again.

"So, darling," Jack started, standing up and dusting off his pants. The woman rose as well in a singular, graceful motion, skirts and all. "You're telling me that we're stuck in hell together and we're the only ones here?" Mutely the woman nodded and Jack gave her a long look. "Sorta makes a scallywag like me wonder what sort of punishment it is to have you here with me. Or maybe it's you that's being punished, and that makes me wonder even more on what a lady like yerself could have done to deserve said fate."

"Nothing gets past you Jack," said the woman with a smile, the fondness more clear in her tone this time around, her expression almost nostalgic in nature. "My fate is tied with yours, Captain Sparrow. The world works in mysterious ways, and the sea is even more ever changing and mysterious than her landly counterpart." She looked up again, her deep sea eyes meeting Jack's dark brown ones. Again there was that look of familiarity, as though she knew him quite well, and this baffled him. As well as the continual lack of slapping. Or of tying him to a post for that matter.

"Tied with yours, Love? When I don't even properly know who ye are?" Once again the woman looked away, turning her body away as well, where she paced towards the outcropping of rocks, her hair rippling despite the apparent lack of wind. From among some of the lower rocks, she withdrew a tricorn hat, one looking very familiar to Jack, every fold and scratch of it in the proper place.

"Your hat," she offered, holding it out for the captain to take, the fabric cleaner than when the beastie spat it out. With a certain air of propriety and even dignity, Jacked placed the hat on his head, just the way he liked it. Looking over his other clothing he found no traces of the Kraken's slime, which was rather a relief to him. Then, fixing her with a rather direct look, one of his eyebrows shot up in question.

"Now, Missy, ye already seem to have a good grasp on who Captain Jack Sparrow is, but he's still a little lost on who you might be." And with a face that he credits to making ladies swoon, he added, "And I think I'd like to be fixing that, Love." Reaching forward, he put a be-ringed hand on the woman's shoulder. True, there was no rum to be seen, but he justified his actions with the fact she started the familiarity, not he When she didn't move away, or slap him, he took it as a positive sign and moved in a little closer. Mirroring the move, the woman moved closer a little, eyes again searching his, a faint smile coming to her dainty features, the expression an odd sort of contentment.

"Even though your only true love is the sea?" she asked with the sound of someone making a point by way of quoting another individual. That individual was Jack, and he was sharp enough to catch onto this. He'd said as much to Lizzie before on the dock of Tortuga. And as crowded as the port was, he was certain that this enigmatic woman, who looked and sounded like a lady, but seemed to have something out of place, would have stood out. And he didn't believe such a lady would have lasted a moment in that free port.

"Aye, she's a bonny lass, but there are still some needs a man has that she can't meet, savvy?" he replied meaningfully, making a point of his own. Or perhaps he did it just to gauge the woman's reaction. Most women of his acquaintance were a bit too forward, not that he minded. And the fair Elizabeth only seemed to pay him court when she had some trickery in mind, which made things difficult for him on the one hand, but made him somewhat proud on the other. The rest of them would generally have nothing to do with him, having lost their sense of adventure to the lines of society. It was curiosity again that prompted him to see what this woman would do.

The black clad woman's lower lip trembled, her eyelids fluttered briefly at the contact. She wavered in place, but made no motion to remove Jack's hand. Testing the waters seemed favorable, so he sailed on ahead, his hands sliding down the woman's shoulder, fingers catching the fabric there to slowly move the fabric. Not exactly the moves of a gentleman, but still moves slow enough to give the lady time to protest, as they quite often did if they deserved the title of lady in the first place. There was no protesting, so away the fabric came.

Beneath it, the lady's fair skin was crisscrossed with a myriad of fine white scars, the sort of thing one would not expect on a woman such as she. Jack's eyebrows furrowed slightly, tanned hands pulling on the fabric now more from a true curiosity rather than a quest for lust. Further down the sight of the skin started to become more alarming. Two dark marks, nearly black against her pale skin, marred the area just above her right breast. Their positions were slightly alarming for Jack knew his own body well. His free hand moved to pull away his loose white shirt, revealing twin marks on his own chest. Hurried he grabbed her left arm, where he forced the fabric away and turned the woman's arm so the underside was revealed. More scarring streaked along her arm, something reminiscent of a lightning bolt. Such a scar was imprinted along Jack's arm as well, something even a man less witty could help but realize.

"Who /are/ you?" Jack demanded to know, his expressive face showing a cross between alarm and intrigue, perhaps even concern. The woman sighed and clutched at her chest as though it just started to pain her at that moment. Color seeped into her face, flushing the pale skin, and though she seemed somewhat embarrassed by something, she didn't look away this time.

"You sold your soul for me Jack," she replied softly, a small quaver in her voice. "You braved many dangers and double crossed almost everyone you knew for me." She paused briefly, exhaling slowly. "You could have found freedom in any number of ways, but you wanted something more specific." The woman lowered her eyes again, trembling. "And if your soul was valued so highly, then what you sold it for must have been given such value as well." She wasn't bragging, but what she said made a lot of sense.

"The Pearl," said Jack, his voice quiet, thoughtful. "Well isn't that interesting?" He looked the woman over more carefully, trying to fit this woman of flesh in with the ship he knew so well. His hands and eyes knew that ship by heart, but this woman was a mystery. It seemed amazing that she could be the same vessel that carried him through so much, a partner that never let him down, never betrayed him. Still, there was something disquieting in someone knowing him so well, while he could only guess what could possibly go through the mind of a ship.

Jack wasn't the strongest man out there or the most merciless. He relied mostly on his wits and understanding of other people to get him through tight spots. And if this woman was what she claimed to be, then it left him with a feeling that she had the advantage over him. How could he know her mind, even though he had done all that she said for her? 


End file.
